


Incandescent

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Candles, M/M, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Changmin was only too happy to tell the world on <i>Moonlight Prince</i>, he likes candle wax<br/>(with artwork by Haeym)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incandescent

He’s trying to study, and the guy next door is playing loud music.

Changmin lets out a slow breath and scrubs a hand through his hair. He tightens his grip near the back of his head then releases it, relaxing his hand down onto the dining table. He needs to concentrate, needs to cram as much knowledge into his mind as he can before he goes to bed.

Candlelight flicks and weaves, sending shimmers of illumination across his books. It’s late. Darkness edges the room, bringing with it the slight chill of night. He should put on a sweater or something; he’s only wearing an old, pale green t-shirt and a pair of striped sleeping shorts. He should get up and turn on the lights so he can see properly, but he likes to study with a row of candle-flames beside him.

Nudging a book closer to the candles, he gazes at the long licks of fire, bright enough in the middle to leave sun-spots on his vision and ragged at the tip where the flame wavers.

Fourteen candles are arranged along the left side of the table. Some nestle inside glass jars. A few cluster in a saucer, little stubby things, their overspill already fused together in gradations of cream. Here are short, fat candles with deep hollows where the wick burns; over there are tall, narrow candles ribbed like stalagmites. All of them are the same off-white of paraffin; all of them are scented.

His mother once told him that scent aids memory. When he was a young teenager, she’d light candles in his room and tell him to focus. It didn’t always work, but it’s a belief he’s carried with him, a habit he’s created, and now he doesn’t like studying without warmth and scent and gentle light.

The candles have myriad fragrances. Vanilla, sandalwood, jasmine, rose, frankincense—a sweet, touching richness that hangs in the air.

The bass line thuds through the wall, a dull _whump-whump_. Changmin frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose. It doesn’t help. He huffs a sigh that disturbs the nearest flames, then returns to his books.

The volume cranks up even louder. Changmin grits his teeth. Tension knots his spine. This is too much. Pushing back his chair with sharp irritation, he crosses the room and bangs on Yunho’s door, then kicks it for good measure. “Shut up!”

The door opens. Noise blasts out. Yunho peers at him. “What?”

Changmin makes a _turn it down, fuckwit_ gesture.

Yunho gives him a long look, then closes the door.

The music continues unabated. Changmin shakes his head, rolls his shoulders to release some of the tension, then goes back to the table and sits down. He stares at the dance of the flames, breathing in the warm scent, struggling to find calm and focus.

And then the music is silenced. Not turned down, but silenced mid-song.

Changmin relaxes. He pulls his books nearer and continues reading.

Behind him, Yunho’s door opens. Closes.

The words blur on the page. Changmin stares, watching the characters swim in the uneven light. He tries to concentrate, tries to attend to the paragraph in front of him. He’s read it three times now and he still doesn’t know what it says. Neither does he care; all his awareness is reaching behind him. He knows Yunho is looking at him, and the knowledge makes his pulse jump, makes his blood slide cold and then race hot. His breathing gets softer as he strains to hear beyond the faint hiss-crackle of the fourteen flames beside him.

He wishes the music was still playing. He longs for noise, because then he could ignore Yunho’s presence, then he’d be able to concentrate on his studies and not on the man watching him.

Changmin imagines Yunho standing there, lounging against the doorjamb, gaze dark on the sweep of Changmin’s shoulders and his pale nape and the way the t-shirt dips at the back. He can imagine the intensity and the intent in that gaze as it starts to kindle and burn.

Hunger makes a fist inside him. Changmin shivers just once, reaction to a breath of cold passing over him. It tightens his body, pebbling his nipples and raising the fine hairs on his forearms.

He moves his left arm closer to the row of candles and absorbs the warmth of the flames, but his teeth are set and his thighs tremble, his right foot jogging up and down until he stops it.

There’s a sound, soft and careless. Yunho has pushed himself away from the door and is coming towards him.

Changmin wants to turn around in his seat and look, but he doesn’t. He can’t. His gaze jitters from the open pages of his books to the flames. They stand straight and true, and then they waver, the lick of fire twisting and fattening and elongating, and then they all judder and puff delicate traceries of black smoke, and Changmin knows Yunho is right behind him.

A whisper of cloth, an exhalation of breath. Changmin starts to curl his hands inwards. Every inch of his exposed skin feels sensitised, charged, waiting. He swallows. His mouth is dry.

A touch. He expected the warmth of Yunho’s hand; instead there’s a slither of fabric, cool and insubstantial. It tickles across his nape and comes to rest over his shoulder, spilling down over his chest. Changmin tears his gaze from the candles and looks at the strip of dark silk. It’s one of Yunho’s ties.

Changmin’s breaths come faster. The flames bow and jerk.

Yunho takes a step closer. He’s almost pressed against the chair. He twitches the tie in silent question.

“Yes.” The word emerges from Changmin tight and aching.

He needs this. He needs the blindfold. It’s not like when he was younger, when he’d discovered this pleasure by accident. That was probably the last time he was innocent. Maybe that’s why he likes revisiting this so much.

These days he can’t surprise himself. It’s not enough to spill wax across his skin and feel the shock of it, the burn and cling and the spread of warming relief. These days he needs to be surprised. He needs Yunho to guide the direction of the wax. 

And yes, there’s pleasure in anticipation when he can see the tilt of the candle, the guttering of the flame as it rights itself, the clear gather of molten wax in the hollow of the candle-tip; when he can hold his breath until his heart pounds and he can moan in pleasurable, agonised wanting as he waits for the wax to drip; but it’s nothing, _nothing_ , to the anticipation of those hot, grip-kiss touches when he’s blindfolded.

Yunho gathers the silk and runs the cool sheen of it up the side of Changmin’s neck and across his cheek, and Changmin moans softly, so softly. Then Yunho takes both ends of the tie and settles it over Changmin’s eyes.

He does it gently, taking his time and fastening the knot with care. His fingers tremble; he’s as moved by this as Changmin, but Changmin’s needs come first.

“Good?” Yunho asks, and Changmin nods. His eyes are closed behind the blindfold. He likes the soft pressure of the silk over his face. He enjoys the feel of it warming from his skin, the sound of it when he turns his head and his hair brushes over it. He lets his senses glide. He can hear the flickering of the candles. He can hear Yunho’s breathing. He drifts—

—then jumps when Yunho touches his throat. It’s just the back of Yunho’s fingers, a slow caress upwards. Changmin lifts his head. Yunho catches his thumb beneath Changmin’s chin and makes him tilt back his head, further, further. Changmin’s lips part in protest and invitation.

Yunho holds him there, the position very slightly uncomfortable. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Changmin makes a noise. Not something soft and sexy but loud and embarrassing in its demand.

“Wait.” Yunho sounds amused. He leans down, his breath warm and ticklish as he comes closer. Changmin’s shoulders are aching, the tension locked back into his spine and spreading. He tries to push up from his seat, but Yunho’s free hand comes down onto his left shoulder and holds him still. He strokes Changmin’s throat, down and up and down, and a few other noises unlatch and stumble free.

“I love you,” Yunho whispers, mouth shaping the words over Changmin’s lips.

Still more noises. They mean things like _I know_ and _I want you_ and _Please, more than this_ and _Give me what I need_ , but it’s easier to make these declarations in the form of anxious, breathless moans.

Yunho kisses him. A slick of fire, wet and burning; the hint of tongue, teasing. Changmin reaches for it, opening his mouth. Yunho gives him more, nips at the bow of his top lip, sucks hard and then plunges in his tongue. Changmin groans into the kiss, rousing an answering purr from Yunho.

The angle doesn’t allow Changmin to control the kiss, but he tries regardless. He uses tongue and teeth, rakes kisses across Yunho’s face, bites the ripe swell of Yunho’s lower lip, licks and licks until they’re both panting.

Yunho pulls away. “Stand up,” he says, gruff and dark. “Take my hands.”

Head still swinging from their kiss, Changmin pushes back the chair. He grabs at Yunho’s hands as he lurches to his feet. The chair didn’t go back far enough; he bumps against the table. The jars and saucer rattle. Changmin catches his breath, imagining the candles toppling, wax spilling, flames spreading. He turns his head, but the blindfold is secure across his eyes.

“It’s okay.” Yunho slides an arm around him and strokes his back, easing him closer. “Kiss me.”

The moment of anxiety is soon forgotten. Changmin takes charge of this kiss, teasing pleasure from Yunho’s mouth, tasting the faint memory of cigarette smoke and coffee.

Yunho runs his hands down Changmin’s back and over his ass, first above the shorts, then below. Changmin mews at the contact and tries to push forward. Yunho stops him, slipping a hand around to the front of Changmin’s shorts to take hold of his cock.

A gasp jolts Changmin; his hips stir as Yunho strokes his dick. Then Yunho is rubbing up against him, his own erection thick and solid. Changmin kisses him, hungry and wanting, then makes a disappointed noise when Yunho pulls away again.

“Wait.” There’s the sound of paper being gathered and books being shut, all of it very precise and methodical, and then Yunho makes a low, impatient growl and knocks the study materials off the table onto the floor.

“Sit,” Yunho says, and Changmin steps backwards. He knocks into the table again and corrects his position, feeling the edge pressing against the back of his thighs. He wriggles his ass onto the table and perches there.

Yunho lifts the hem of the t-shirt. Changmin raises his arms and lets Yunho take it off him. There’s a soft thump as it drops to the floor. Yunho’s hands trace over his body, fitting around his ribs and stroking up. He thumbs Changmin’s nipples, a brief strummed caress that sends a shiver through him, and then slides up to smooth over his shoulders. Yunho’s palms press down. “Lie across the table for me.”

Changmin tries to work out where he is in relation to the candles. He gives up. It doesn’t matter. Trusting Yunho to guide him, he leans back, rolling himself flat across the table. He keeps his hands above his head, wrists crossed. His legs hang over the edge. On tiptoes, he can touch the floor.

“Changminnie,” Yunho says, and there’s wonder as soft and dark as smoke in his tone. “Changminnie, I want you naked. I want to look at you.”

Desire trembles through him. Changmin lifts his toes from the floor and squirms a little, attempting to assist Yunho in taking off his shorts. He gets one leg free of his underwear, then feels the fabric slide down his other leg and onto the floor. He jabs his toes at it, scuffling it out of the way.

There’s a long pause. Yunho is looking at him, admiring him spread out and naked. Excitement spirals. Changmin tries to remain still, his pulse jumping, awareness screaming. He points his toes, feeling the strain go through his thighs.

“Gorgeous,” Yunho says. “Oh, you’re gorgeous. I’m going to spill heat all over you, baby. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” Changmin hears the need in his voice. Arousal hammers through him. He writhes, rolls a quarter-turn to his right, and then Yunho halts him. He’s close to the row of candles; three, maybe four inches away at most.

Changmin stops mid-squirm. The heat of the flames is gentle against his naked flesh. He opens his eyes behind the blindfold. The weave of the silk is dense, too thick for him to see through directly, but he can see a glow limning the edges of the blindfold. He holds so still he starts to sweat, mouth open as if drinking in the light.

“I won’t let you burn.” Yunho’s voice is closer. He’s changed position around the table. “You won’t burn, but...

A puff of breath, fierce and swift. Changmin jerks as a spray of hot wax spatters over his chest.

His moan of appreciation at the sharp ease of it breaks off when Yunho blows out another candle. More wax splashes, patterning over Changmin’s ribs and across his tensed belly. His breath leaving him in a single desperate exhalation, he rolls flat onto his back. His cock bobs, oozing wetness. Changmin stretches his arms high above his head, grasps at the edge of the table with both hands. His fingers flicker, restless and awkward. He arches his back, hips stuttering; he rocks on his tiptoes, his thighs trembling.

Yunho moves again. He puts his hands on Changmin’s knees, pushing them apart. Changmin dances his toes across the floor. This position feels so open. The long muscles pull all through his thighs. He’s aware of the pulse swift and deep through his femoral arteries. Yunho lays a finger over the vein, high up in the crease where right leg and torso meet, and Changmin writhes, pinioned by his vulnerability, his breath gasping, blood pounding.

His fingers twist and knot. He slicks his lips with his tongue, but the saliva dries too fast and he needs to do it again. Everything’s too hot. He’s burning. He’s desperate for the soothing clasp of the wax over his skin, for the delicate sting of its kiss.

Changmin’s lips work around words he can’t express. Yunho takes pity, leans over him and slides two fingers into his open mouth. Changmin makes a muffled noise of gratitude. Closing his teeth around Yunho’s fingers below the knuckle, he sucks. He moans, long and low, hips rolling as he thrusts against Yunho.

Things tilt and slide, getting away from him, but he has Yunho’s fingers hooked into his mouth and it’s as if he’s caught on a line, frantic and striving but safe. The heat of the candle flames glow beside him. There’s the scent of vanilla and sandalwood; the scent of his body, ripe with sweat and musk. There’s Yunho’s cologne, the headiest scent of all, and the taste of his skin as Changmin nibbles at his fingertips, as he swirls his tongue and makes Yunho groan and say _Changmin, oh fuck_ in a voice rich with lust.

Yunho slips his fingers free and drags them, glistening, down Changmin’s chin, tracing his throat, over his chest, where the wetness of saliva mixes with the gloss of sweat. Yunho rubs his fingers over Changmin’s left nipple. It’s already furled tight. Now it puckers even more as Yunho rolls it between thumb and forefinger, pinching and pinching until Changmin’s mouth drops open and he pants for breath, stabbing his toes at the floor as his thighs strain and quiver.

“Yes,” Yunho says. He bends down, his hair tickling over Changmin’s chest, and licks the very tip of Changmin’s nipple even as he pinches harder.

Changmin cries out. He squirms. Yunho releases him and he moans again at the rush of sensation into his bruised nipple.

Before he can process it fully, he hears the flare of a candle-flame above him. Molten wax spills across his chest, over his right nipple. A flash of pleasure ignites, too brief to be of any use. Changmin grunts and lifts his chest. There’s a flickering wash of heat as Yunho brings the candle lower, and then a fall of hot, spattering rain.

It’s so good, so sweet. Changmin jerks and writhes. His dick is rock hard, wetness sticky-smearing over his belly. The wax is cooling, flaking off where it’s already peeling free of his skin. He needs more. “Please,” Changmin begs, voice slurring as if he’s drunk.

“Here.” Yunho takes his right hand and guides it to the saucer. “Touch it.”

Changmin dips his fingers into the pool of soft wax. The surface is just a thin crust; his fingertips break through into the molten warmth beneath. He moans at the sensation, the wax sticking to his skin.

Yunho makes him lift his hand. Makes him wrap it around his cock.

“God, the heat coming off you,” Yunho breathes, admiring. “You should see how huge your dick is. How swollen.” His hands are on Changmin’s splayed thighs. He dips his head and nuzzles at Changmin’s balls. “So high and tight. You want to come, don’t you? Fuck your hand, baby. Let me see you do yourself. Work it good and hard.”

Changmin wriggles his fingers around his shaft. The wax is cooling, drying. It starts to slough off when he takes a firm grip on his dick and begins to stroke it. His fingertips feel pink beneath the cling of the wax. The skin feels new. He gasps for air and heaves up on the table, pushing his weight through his toes.

Yunho sucks at Changmin’s balls, licks the insides of his thighs. Buries his face lower and curls his tongue over Changmin’s perineum.

Changmin pumps his dick faster, harder. Sweat rolls and trickles. He’s too hot, head tossing from side to side, the blindfold damp. His skin sticks to the surface of the table. Pre-come slides over his fist. Ribbles of wax crack. He sees light behind his eyes and reaches for it.

“Oh yeah,” Yunho urges breathlessly. “That’s it. A little more. Come on, baby.”

Changmin can’t see, can’t breathe. He’s falling. He’s flying.

Yunho licks into Changmin’s hips, thrumming deep, open-mouthed kisses over the path of the arteries, tugging at his pubic hair. Changmin writhes and begs, chasing his orgasm. It’s close, so close, but he’s not there yet. He can’t touch it, he can’t catch it.

“More,” Yunho says, and he draws down Changmin’s ball sac, stretching it out.

Changmin’s back arches in shuddery increments, higher and higher. His hand blurs. Everything’s tight, a spring wound to breaking point.

“More,” Yunho says again, and Changmin gasps, gasps. He wants, he needs—

Hot wax spills across the insides of his thighs, into the hollows of his hips. He moans, flinching and jolting, orgasm almost upon him, and then Yunho says, “Now,” and directs a delicate runnel of wax over Changmin’s taut-stretched balls.

Changmin howls. Tension snaps. Pleasure rears up to balance the pain. Ecstasy punches through him.

He comes in constellations, a thick wet heat to match the patterns of wax cooling and drying, danced all over his body.

* * *

Artwork by Haeym!


End file.
